It's Called 'Irony', Captain
by Kitty O
Summary: One-shot, my first Star Trek fic. POV: Red Shirt. He's beaming down to the surface and he doesn't expect to come back alive. But maybe, just maybe... Is it possible that fate has other plans for Richard Johnson?


**It's Called 'Irony', Captain. **

**By Kitty O**

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Captain James T. Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. Leonard McCoy, Mr. Sulu, and I (Richard Johnson) went on a _very dangerous_ mission. _Life-threatening._ As in, on the surface of the planet we were beaming down to, there was an army of spear-carrying bear-creatures with human cunning but none of the softer human emotions. And at night, it got so cold there that our fingers would snap off in three seconds flat. And the rain was acidic enough to burn through our skin. And it rained eight hours out of their twelve-hour-days.

Mr. Spock listed all of these dangers in a calm voice, but his lips twitched, and I knew the truth; he was actually, deep in that half-Vulcan soul of his, enjoying the thought of beaming down.

He could. He was never killed, ever. Not even when he'd been shot multiple times and had his neck broken. (That happened once; I read it in the log.)

I, on the other hand, hadn't the assurance of survival. This was my first mission, and likely to be my last.

The thing was, I didn't even know why the heck we were _going_ to the surface of the big purple planet. Captain Kirk had given a reason, but sometimes when he spoke I tended to kind of zone out. And unfortunately, this had been one of those times.

So there was nothing for me to do but to face this inevitable death with dignity and maturity. (In other words, I left a note to my mother telling her what was about to happen and saying that I would never forgive her for making me join Starfleet. Also, I ordered her not to let Jimmy sell my gaming system. That should be buried in my stead if my body was never found.)

We beamed down to the planet. It was daytime; that was good. There was no rain. The rocky terrain was faintly purple, and we stood in a clearing with hills of loose giant rocks piled around us. The army of bear-creatures were nowhere in sight, but I didn't allow myself a sigh of relief. You see, I was genre savvy. I knew that it was quiet… too quiet, and that boded no good for me. I knew that the minute anyone – _anyone_ – breathed an "All clear, Captain", the planet would get a lot less clear.

And then Mr. Spock, his soft voice monotone, said, "All is clear, Captain."

It wasn't exact, but it was close enough. That was the moment when a giant, horrifying bear-like creature stood up from behind a rock, his tusks glittering in the light, and let fly a crude spear—a sharpened bone tied to a gnarled wooden stick.

I froze and closed my eyes. _This is the part,_ I thought sadly, tensing, _where I get hit with a spear, yell, and therefore inform the captain and the others that there is danger. _

But, to my eternal shock, the spear flew right past me, and I heard an earsplitting scream that was _not_ mine. Spinning around, yanking out my phaser, I was met with the unexpected sight of Mr. Sulu sprawled on the rock-strewn ground, a spear in his side.

I choked in disbelief.

"Sulu!" Captain Kirk cried, seeing the body. He whipped out his own phaser and shot the creature that killed Sulu, only to have another spear seem to sprout from his back as he fell forward.

"Jim!"

And before McCoy could take a step, the creatures were upon us. Spock and McCoy fought bravely, and I managed to vaporize a few monsters on my own, but when the attack was over and the metaphorical dust settled, I was shocked to find…

Nothing.

I was standing, all alone, on the planet, surrounded by four dead Starfleet members and a veritable legion of dead bear-creatures.

I was fairly certain that was impossible. How could I, Richard Johnson, be standing, when Kirk, Spock, and McCoy, men so famous that their very names were used to define a personality type, were_ dead_?

Maybe it was a dream sequence? No, there were no fuzzy lines wrapping around my sight.

Maybe I was insane? I didn't think so.

_Ah,_ I thought. _It's a new writer. One that likes to play with the status quo. That's why I'm alive. _Unthinkingly, I began to play with the red fabric that made up my shirt. _This writer is indeed, original, but likely Kirk and Spock and McCoy and even Sulu will be back alive by the end of the episode. Montgomery Scott just couldn't do the playful banter by himself, and Chekov hasn't even entered the show yet. _

Much reassured by my reasoning, I flipped up my communicator and said into it, "Mr. Scott? You should beam me up. And four bodies."

And as the transporter sounds – vibrating humming – began to fill my ears, the thunder rolled threateningly. I had even missed the acid rain.

Someone up there liked me. Maybe I would even _survive the episode_!

And then, as an odd electric crackling began to take the place of the humming, I heard Scotty begin to yell in panic, "Transporter Malfunction, lad! It's a Transporter Malfunction!"

The golden sparks of the transporter turned red, then brown, and finally black. I sighed.

_Oh. Never-mind. _

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**A/N: This is the first Star Trek I've tried, so I decided to start with a humorous one. That sometimes works, though of course sometimes it's better to start with a really dramatic, scary fic. *shrugs* Anyway, just trying the waters here, so I'd love a few reviews to show me what this fandom is made of. Thanks! **


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